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I can’t even remember how many I missed because I had late meetings that I refused to reschedule. And everything else I missed—the volleyball games and track meets, piano concerts, school plays . . . It’s a wonder that the kids have forgiven me, let alone seem to like me.” She nodded in acknowledgment but said nothing. Then again, there was nothing she could say. I took a deep breath and plunged on. “I know I haven’t always been the best husband, either,” I said quietly. “Sometimes I wonder why you’ve put up with me for as long as you have.” At that, her eyebrows rose. “I know you spent too many evenings and weekends alone, and I put all the responsibility for child rearing on you. That wasn’t fair to you. And even when you told me that what you wanted more than anything was to spend time with me, I didn’t listen. Like for your thirtieth birthday.” I paused, letting my words sink in. Across the table, I watched Jane’s eyes flash with the memory. It was one of the many mistakes I’d made in the past that I’d tried to forget.?What she’d asked for back then had been quite simple: Overwhelmed with the new burdens of motherhood, she’d wanted to feel like a woman again, at least for an evening, and had dropped various hints in advance about what such a romantic evening might entail—clothes laid out on the bed for her, flowers, a limousine to whisk us to a quiet restaurant, a table with a lovely view, quiet conversation without worrying that she had to rush home.